Silver Phoenix (39 page)

“Crimson Tail said you come from the Land of Xia?” The Chief looked down at them with three curious eyes. They were not the same color. The middle vertical one was a dark green, and the other eyes a clear, light blue.

“Yes. I’m called Chen Yong, and this is Ai Ling. We’re trying to make our way back home.”

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The Chief nodded. “I have heard tales of your people, but did not know them to be true or false. It astounds me to see someone so different from ourselves.”

He nodded to Archer in approval. “You have done well bringing this species to us. Take them to the third floor and strip them. The Anatomist will examine them.”

The words had barely sunk in when Chen Yong jumped to his feet, his sword already sweeping an arc in the air. But the sharp blade Archer pressed to the back of Ai Ling’s neck halted him.

“Do not be a hero, Xian male. You are outnumbered.”

The Chief’s lips curved into a smile, revealing sharp white teeth.

Armed guards marched into the room until they lined the six walls shoulder to shoulder. Garbed in red, they carried tall staffs with hooked blades at the tip. Each one had hair shorn short, like Archer.

“We will not harm you. We want to examine and learn.”

The Chief rubbed the fingers of his hand in obvious pleasure; anticipation. “Take them away.” He flicked his hand in dismissal.

“Relinquish your weapon, Xian male. Fight, and the Xian female dies first,” Archer said. Ai Ling bit her lip at her own rashness and stupidity. They would not be in this predica-ment if she had listened to Chen Yong—but she had been too stubborn, sure she was right. Chen Yong handed over his sword, the cords of his neck taut. Archer cocked his 220

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head to the door and escorted by guards, they started down the long hallway.

“The stairs in the back. Go.”

Ai Ling followed Chen Yong, with Archer behind her.

Her mind raced. They were surrounded by guards—how could they possibly escape? She wanted to beg for Chen Yong’s forgiveness, stomp her feet in anger and frustration at her own gullibility.

Chen Yong walked with his back straight and stiff, his hands doubled in fists by his sides. She wondered if she could enter Archer’s spirit to search for knowledge. But could she keep herself walking at the same time?

They climbed past the second floor and onto the third.

Ai Ling sensed the sharp tip of the Archer’s sword behind her, its threat heavy, solid, even though it did not touch her once.

“Down this hall,” Archer said. The passageway looked the same as the first, only now all six walls were made of glass, allowing a view into a room that was bare except for two single beds on raised stilts, reminding her of Li Rong’s funeral pyre. Her throat tightened, the grief quickly replaced by fear. Would they seize her knapsack, rifle through the contents? She clutched the sack closer to her.

Chen Yong stepped into the chamber under Archer’s direction. Ai Ling wrinkled her nose at the scent of bitter medicinal herbs. Again, sunlight flooded the room from an open shaft in the middle, glancing off the six opaque walls 221

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of silver. Ai Ling realized that the glass only allowed one-way viewing, from the outside in, and the hairs on her arms stood on end. What did the Chief have planned for them, with the Anatomist’s help?

“Take off the clothes.” Archer waved his weapon noncha-lantly at them.

Ai Ling didn’t move.

Archer extended his sword until the tip touched the hollow of her throat, his smooth face never changing expression.

Chen Yong nodded to her. She almost wanted to laugh, hysteria welling within her. But then he turned his broad back, put down his knapsack, and pulled off his tunic. Ai Ling spun around at the sight of his bare skin. Her face burned as she removed her own tunic. She glanced at Archer, and he waved his weapon to quicken her pace.

Ai Ling took off her trousers and folded both top and bottom neatly, placing them on one of the platform beds. She still had her undershirt and shorts on.

“Everything, female,” Archer said.

She peeled off her underclothing and climbed onto the edge of the bed, her back to Archer and Chen Yong. She brought her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around herself, unable to disguise the trembling of her limbs.

Her teeth clacked in terror. Her entire body felt flushed, yet chilled from sweat; her heart pounded hard against her thigh.

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“The Anatomist will come. Do as he says. We see everything.”

Archer picked up their knapsacks, and the silver doors slid shut behind him with a faint hiss. Ai Ling wanted to retch.

“Son of a rotten turtle. He took my sword,” Chen Yong said.

She had tucked her dagger in the pile of folded clothes.

The Chief had said they would not be harmed. Archer had said he would help to get them home. But look where they were now.

“I’m sorry. . . .” She trailed off, unable to talk past the knot in her throat. She stared at her hunched reflection. Chen Yong’s bare back was visible behind her in the silver glass.

He didn’t reply. She breathed into her knees, not blaming him if he never spoke to her again.

“Can you . . . ?” Chen Yong finally said. She waited for him to finish his sentence but realized after a few moments he deliberately had not.

She snapped her head back to him. He half turned also, and tilted his head toward the doors, menacing with their gray reflection. Anyone could be watching. Anyone could be listening.

At that moment, the silver doors slid open and another one-armed man entered the room. This one was dressed in robes the color of agate. He was slender and slight, with the smooth face that seemed so prevalent. She assumed he was the Anatomist. He turned to them, the vertical eye intent 223

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on her, his two others scrutinizing Chen Yong. Ai Ling shivered, and she hugged her nakedness even closer.

“This is indeed a surprise. A real find by our Archer. We will learn much from studying you,” the Anatomist said in a singsong voice. He crossed the room with a strange gait, as if one leg was shorter than the other, and approached Chen Yong.

“The guards are outside. They see all.”

The Anatomist directed Chen Yong to the end of the hard bed. Ai Ling glimpsed the side view of his naked form in the refl ection.

She shut her eyes and focused on the Anatomist, casting her spirit toward him, hoping to learn something—anything.

They needed to escape, and fighting their way out was not an option. Not if they wanted to live. She felt the familiar tautness in her navel. She snapped into the Anatomist’s being.

The clarity of his vision shocked her, the colors vibrant, the light fi ltered more pristinely than what she knew.

The Anatomist ran his fingers across Chen Yong’s scalp, massaging the skull. He twisted a strand of the hair and made a mental note of the color and texture. Through his eyes, Chen Yong’s hair was a mixture of bronzes, copper, and ebony. Fascinated, Ai Ling wanted him to linger there, but instead he tugged on Chen Yong’s earlobes and peered inside an ear.

The Xian male is tense. Not surprising. The pair will make good
slaves—as well as their offspring. The Chief is much pleased. I must
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make careful illustrations of their sexual organs. Do they procreate the
same as we do?

Ai Ling’s spirit recoiled, and she nearly snapped back within her own body.

The Anatomist worked his nimble fingers across Chen Yong’s wide shoulders and began tracing a line down the lumbars of his back. Chen Yong’s muscles tightened, became even more defined under the Anatomist’s touch; he rolled his shoulders, as if to shake off a fl y.

The Anatomist gripped the back of his neck, with surprising strength. Ai Ling felt the cords of Chen Yong’s neck tense. “Cooperate. It will be unpleasant otherwise,” the Anatomist hissed in his ear.

She folded herself around the Anatomist’s spirit. She felt his confusion. He resisted, his arm slackened to his side, shocked into immobility at what was happening within his mind.

She could not fail. This was their only chance. She expanded her spirit and wrapped it around his. He continued to struggle, like a slippery fish caught in the binds of her net. Ai Ling held firm . . . until she had taken control of his physical body.